


The Commander of Blue Stripes

by ArcheaMajuar



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom Geralt, Humour, M/M, Sub Roche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:13:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar
Summary: Roche is contemplating his plans, but Geralt has something different on his mind...





	The Commander of Blue Stripes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMagician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagician/gifts).
  * A translation of [Velitel Modrých pruhů](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180611) by [ArcheaMajuar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcheaMajuar/pseuds/ArcheaMajuar). 



> English is not my mother tongue as I'm from the Czech Republic. There are mistakes in the story, I know, but I just don't have anyone around to give me their feedback on the fic, grammar and so on. I'm really sorry, I hope you'll enjoy it though.

The Kaedweni Camp was about to plunge into darkness. Camp fires, disregarded through the day, became almost the only places where the soldiers were gathering with the exception of those who were on duty or those of higher ranks. Some of them were enjoying a female company, some of them were drinking heavily, and some of them were just contemplating their future plans in the solitude of their tents.

The commander of Blue Stripes belonged to the last group of soldiers. Vernon Roche decided to undergo a proper bath in order to let his tired muscles relax, and for once he chose this method of clearing his mind instead of drinking cheap alcohol. Then he dressed up in his usual apparel, because he definitely didn’t want to be seen without his blue uniform which he loved and adored as much as he loved and adored Temeria. However, he left out his chaperon, and his weapons were still lying aside, but still rather at hand.

He sat at the table, intertwined his fingers on the wooden desk and immediately fell into his thoughts and memories and plans, but something… He missed something.

“Ves!”

After few seconds, the tent canvas moved and a blonde girl dressed in a blue uniform walked in.

“Bring me something to drink,” Roche half-commanded half-asked.

He was literally barking at her and giving her uncompromising glances, though he had to admit he kept trying to treat her in a sort of softer manner than his other soldiers even though he knew Ves didn’t approve of that. Well, he wasn’t able to help himself. He behaved towards Ves in such a way, because each look at her reminded him how much the girl was important to him and how loyal she was to him, and the inner fight between his endeavours to treat her like any other soldier (like she wanted) and his gratitude seemed never-ending.

Ves probably didn’t know any of his struggles and Roche was adamant in keeping things this way. She nodded and vanished. It wasn’t necessary for Vernon to say anything else as the girl was well-aware of her commander’s favourite alcohol. He lowered his gaze back to the table and his hands, patiently waiting for Ves to come back. After a while, the tent canvas rustled again.

“Well, now I know why you never take off that chaperon.”

Roche immediately recognized the low-pitched voice of the unexpected visitor. He wasn’t caught off guard even though he really didn’t foresee Geralt’s presence in his tent. Moreover, he smiled faintly as he raised his glance to the visitor. For a moment, he was savouring the look at the Witcher, and then he asked him:

“You’re so tired of working as a Witcher? I can’t imagine it’s the right time for you to learn how to be a good servant.”

Amused, Vernon was looking at Geralt who kept standing at the tent’s entrance, a tray with two tankards of bear bearing upon his flat palm.

“Sometimes, it really bothers me how unpopular among folk I am. The process of mutations is irreversible, but if I was a mere servant, I might gain some trust and affinity,” Geralt shrugged and noticing Roche’s good spirit, he approached him.

“Sit down if you wish,” Roche nodded towards a bench of the other side of the table on which Geralt had put the tray. Temerian grabbed one of the tankards, took two large gulps of beer, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and looked at his friend again. “Did you come there only to criticize my hair or is there any other reason why you’re here?”

Roche ironically grimaced when Geralt kept staring intently at his hair, eyes narrowed and focused, so he drank more of his beer and waited for the Witcher to drop from his silly jokes. However, he had to admit Geralt hit the nail on its head, because Roche wore the chaperon mainly to cover his absurdly untameable hair. If he kept them short, they would always look dishevelled, and if he let it grow long, it would be necessary for him to tie it back, which would make him look like an idiot. Hence he preferred having short hair (even though it constantly seemed scruffy) hidden under the chaperon, but now… There was no point in covering them as Geralt had already seen his half-wet hair. Well, he wasn’t surprised the Witcher was amused by it.

“What reason would you prefer?”

Roche was knew that look Geralt has put on. In the same way he was ogling girls around brothels both of them had passed by during their journey. He didn’t know Geralt for long, but well, they had encountered many brothels, so he was able to recognize that look easily. Roche also thought of himself as a skilled observer, however, he was surprised the Witcher kept staring at him hungrily, because Geralt had never acted like he was interested in him. 

“I’m a good observer as well, Vernon, you know,” Geralt said nonchalantly like he just knew what was on Roche’s mind. Tossing his tankard aside, the white-haired sit down without breaking the eye contact.

The catlike eyes staid locked with the brown ones behind which a huge chaos of thoughts commenced. Roche was thinking, contemplating, and weighing his chances as it was crystal clear that the Witcher knew what he was talking about. Being honest with himself, Roche was admitting he had sort of presumed Geralt would eventually find out about Roche’s preferences. The time they had spent together… the journey, the troubles in Flotsam, that one unusually cold night nearby the Hagge fortress…

“Well, I’ve heard you talking about girls plenty of times, but I’ve never actually seen you in a brothel. And you’re more like a father figure to Ves, so…”

Not a single muscle twitched in Vernon’s face. He remained silent, neither an agreement nor an outrage did he expressed. However, Geralt knew and he didn’t need any signs of Roche’s approval. Temerian was still in doubts about the things implied.

Does Geralt want a confirmation that he was right? Roche didn’t think so. The Witcher could’ve had many personal qualities, and he definitely belonged to the curious sort of people, but any urges of sticking his nose into his friends’ private matters were not really innate for him. So… why? Does he have a… plan with him?

It didn’t matter what kind of plans Roche was initially thinking about as a certain image of him and Geralt crossed his mind immediately, making him forget his doubts and causing his blood to flow south. He experienced a wave of heat that rushed all over his skin, and he was hell of sure Geralt noticed the change in his expression, because the Witcher was suddenly smirking knowingly.

“Your ability of deducing things from such subtle signs is remarkable,” Roche murmured and stood up, heading for the provisional door of his provisional dwelling. He heard the rustle of Geralt’s apparel as the Witcher turned to him, probably afraid of Roche’s intention of leaving, but Temerian only wanted to peek out of the tent.

“Ves!” he yelled and waited for the girl to approach him quickly.

“Till I say otherwise, I don’t want to be disturbed and no one is permitted to enter, understood?” Roche said firmly and after Ves nodded, he added: “Sepp and Griffin will guard my ten. Tell them.”

Then he started tying the two parts of the canvas together to prevent anyone from seeing what could be happening inside. As the iron buckles of each belt tinkled, Roche was growing more and more nervous and more and more influenced by the image of what was coming. He was well-aware of Geralt’s look on his back, he felt that the tension had filled the tent.

“Isn’t Griffin deaf?” a deep voice cut through the heavy air.

“Yes, he is,” Roche confirmed while fasting the last belt, his heart pumping blood with a greater speed each second. “And Sepp as well.”

He turned around to face the Witcher whose catlike eyes were still lingering on him. Roche moved closer, halted when he was few feet away from the other man, and put his hands on hips, hoping it would hide his nervousness.

“What do you want, Witcher?” the Commander of Blue Stripes demanded some answers on where this all was heading. Of course, he sensed the things implied, but he needed to hear why famous Geralt of Rivia, who is able to hump every girl willing to go with him, came to Vernon Roche and kept staring at him like a hungry wolf which Geralt definitely was.

The white-haired man remained quiet, but he did something as he put his two swords on the ground beside the bench he was sitting on. As soon as he narrowed himself again, he said nothing to Vernon’s attempt of an annoyed face, because that disappeared a second after Geralt placed his palm on the other man’s hip. Just the firm grip made Roche forget about any answers and explanations as this gesture seemed to be more expressive than thousand words. Roche gulped almost audibly, but other signs of him enjoying Geralt’s touch he tried not to be seen which wasn’t easy, because even through the fabric of his uniform, he felt Geralt’s fingers, digging into his muscle.

Yeah, this possessive clutch clearly displayed the Witcher’s intentions. Still being taken aback by the current situation, Roche stared in Geralt’s eyes till he looked down where callous fingers started to work on his belt. He watched as his uniform got unbuckled and unbuttoned, and when the parts of it got apart, Roche automatically moved his arms in such a way the coat fall down from his shoulders and arms on the ground.

Whatever preferences Roche had in a bed, his role was pretty clear once he realized the reason why Geralt had come here. He wasn’t able to care less as he was witnessing how Geralt’s fingers were pulling out his shirt out of his pants, how his warm hands were slipping under the thin layer of fabric, touching his skin…

He knew it wouldn’t take long for him to get utterly lost in this caressing, so Vernon raised his hand to put it on Geralt’s chin and to make him look into his eyes once again, but Geralt had lifted up his glance on his own. He might’ve awaited an attack or another way of resistance and his reflexes forced him to react, but he calmed down as Roche’s fingers ended up on his chin anyway.

“I trust you, Witcher,” he informed Geralt in a stern voice, “so don’t screw it up.”

Vernon was quite sure Geralt was far from boasting about having a good fuck with the Commander of Blue Stripes, however, he sort of expected some not really funny remarks in the future. He assumed any warnings wouldn’t turn Geralt’s hunger down, but he felt an urge to… to… to show that he was still able to speak coherently even though the other man was getting rid of his armour that fell down with a loud thud, followed by something Roche didn’t know how to call, and by a surprisingly stainless white shirt.

Roche wasn’t able to tear his glace away from Geralt’s chest, criss-crossed with scars. Neither of the cuts looked alike and Roche didn’t dare to guess what caused most of them. He only recognized those created by enemy’s sword or by the tip of an arrow, because as Geralt pulled Vernon’s shirt over his head, the Witcher could see the Commander’s scars as the outcomes of numerous battles he had engaged in. Roche was a man of action and had always stood beside his soldiers in fights, proud of every member of Blue Stripes and proud of every scar on his body that kept reminding him of all victorious battles.

Appreciating the view at Geralt’s torso for another couple of seconds, Vernon’s heartbeat quicken as soon as the Witcher closed the distance between them and the Commander felt a warm breath on his face. He raised his glance to look into Geralt’s ones, but his eyes shut down as Geralt made another move towards the other man and their lips touched for the very first time. Roche immediately felt a bolt of arousal that struck his body, he savoured that moment when nothing much was happening but for their locked lips. He purred contently as a tongue brushed his mouth, he invited it in and let his fingers burry in Geralt’s white hair. It wasn’t possible for him to be more excited about this situation, about the fact that he was quickly getting hard for a strong and muscular man who was pressing his erection into his stomach.

“Get in the bed,” Geralt growled after he had broken the kiss.

“Yeah, sorry, I’ve forgotten you’re not a spring chicken anymore.”

“You can put it this way… I’m almost a hundred years old.”

The answer might’ve surprised Roche, but he didn’t care right now. He just snorted, made a mental note that the tales about the Witchers’ longevity may be true, and sat down on something that wasn’t really a bed, but a pallet which came in handy as Roche was pretty sure that a regular bed would went all creaky under them. Neither of them was exactly thin, however, in comparison with Geralt, Roche looked somehow bony… But Geralt probably didn’t think so as he just stopped in front of the pallet, ogling him with a lust in his eyes.

Vernon loved that look and not only because it pleasantly stroked his ego, but also because it put a pleased smile on his face, and the smile got broader as Geralt’s attention moved to Roche’s chest, and then to his groin. Geralt smirked and completely caught Roche off guard by falling on knees between Vernon’s legs, kissing him on the lips gently. His large hands were placed on the Commander’s chest, and when the kiss got hungry and passionate, Roche wasn’t able to believe this was really happening. He was so lost he let Geralt take over all initiative.

He let the Witcher to touch every part of his body he wanted, and he didn’t complain at all while Geralt was squeezing his ass, pressing his crotch into him. Roche couldn’t keep his arousal to himself anymore as he moaned right into Geralt’s mouth, but kept kissing him. The only thing his mind was focused on was that insufficient friction. He needed the feeling of another erection, but Geralt’s cock was still imprisoned in the stupid trousers like his own were. He needed more of Geralt, more of his hand, mouth, and cock. Roche’s hands were everywhere, possessively groping at his ass while Geralt was doing almost the same, and it felt like they were two thirsty men who finally obtained a tankard of beer and were unable to get sated, to get enough.

Even though he was so much into it, his mind kept wondering why the Witcher, eager to hump every damn girl he meets, had decided to spent the night with the Commander of Blue Stripes. It was somehow flattering though, so Roche snuffed out such thoughts and let himself enjoy their evening especially when there was so little things to enjoy in these days. And where would he find anyone else whom he trusted so much? Geralt was the perfect choice despite the fact they had become friends because of Foltest’s murder Geralt was accused of. He happened to be so lucky that Geralt of Rivia just fell into Roche’s lap… Literally.

Literally, because Geralt was now kneeling between Vernon’s legs, trying to take his pants off.

Temerian sort of expected to be turned on his stomach, but Geralt had different plans as he made Roche lay on his back, then he leaned to him and brushed Vernon’s cheek with his own, taking both of their cocks in his hand, stroking them in unison. The sound of Geralt’s sharp inhale mixed with Roche’s horny moan, and Roche realized that Geralt wasn’t a rookie regarding male sex, judging from his expression as he looked like he was just experiencing that kind of pleasure which had avoiding him for a long period of time.

Vernon again buried his fingers in Geralt’s hair and initiated another kiss, tenderer than the previous one, but once Roche playfully bit on Geralt’s lip, the Witcher growled and somehow remembered what he had wanted to do for the whole evening. He broke the kiss, which Roche entirely disagreed with, however, he utterly approved of Geralt using his mouth on salivating his fingers. Roche lost the friction on his erection, but he really wanted Geralt to be inside of him, so he swallowed all his complaints, lay down and tried to relax all his muscles.

Because of all survived battles, Roche was used to various types of pain, hence his patience with the Witcher’s preparation of his body was a short-termed one. He was squirming under Geralt’s care, he needed him deeper, he needed him to touch that spot, and when Geralt did so, Roche’s back arched, his desire be fucked became unbearable.

“Come on, Geralt, even the Northern Realms get united before you’ll fuck me,” Roche grunted in a hoarse and horny voice before a tiny sound escaped from his mouth when he happened to be utterly empty. Soon enough, a wave of pleasure flooded his body, and it was so intense that he forgot all the words, because Geralt fulfilled Roche’s wish and immediately pointed his cock into the commander’s body, making Roche taking Geralt by his shoulders.

At first, his nails were digging into his muscles out of pain, but soon he kept doing so only to see the fire in Geralt’s eyes, and the deeper his nails went the more he couldn’t tear his gaze from the Witcher’s expression. The following kiss was nothing of gentleness, Roche felt only Geralt’s teeth on his lips, and Roche welcomed such brutality as it matched perfectly to the slow and careful movements of Geralt’s hips. On one hand, the Witcher was teased by Roche’s feral kisses, on the other one, Geralt sort of sensed how much Roche trusted him when he put his legs around Geralt’s waist, and then trustingly bared his throat as a groan escaped from his mouth.

Roche was well-aware he was moaning like the cheapest hooker in Novigrad, but he couldn’t care less. He just craved to have somebody on the top of him, somebody who wasn’t scared of him, who respected him for whom he was, and who was willing to give him what he yearned for… Savouring every moment, he felt Geralt inside of him, he felt each movement and heard each sound Geralt had made, each grunt and each growl. Vernon let himself hug Geralt, and holding him tight in every possible way, he moaned the Witcher’s name in a wanton voice when Geralt gripped on his cock, stroking him quickly, and biting the delicate skin on his neck.

 _That’s perfect,_ a though crossed Roche’s mind just a second before he couldn’t think of anything else but an overwhelming ecstasy, rushing though his veins, and reaching a point in which Roche wasn’t able to resist anymore. His back arched and his hips kept craving more from Geralt, he demanded Geralt to ram into him even faster and harder, and with another touch of Geralt’s palm on his cock Roche reached his climax, nails digging into scarred shoulders once again.

Experiencing the divine delight of having an orgasm, he was still noticing Geralt’s ruthless thrusts and he also caught a glimpse of his expression when Geralt’s movements ceased. Roche even smiled tiredly at Geralt’s quite moan and a try to inhale properly. Vernon didn’t protest at all as the heavily breathing Witcher sort of collapsed on him. No, he didn’t protest, because this was another reason why he preferred men. Because he loved being under them, to be imprisoned under their strong bodies, and such situations were the only one when he loved being helpless.  

However, he was glad that Geralt lied beside him soon due to the fact Geralt really wasn’t the thinnest one, and Vernon appreciated the option to get some air into his lungs.

Every fibre of his body was tired. A nice and refreshing sleep was creeping upon him, so he reached for a pair of pelts, which Ves didn’t forget to bring here after they had arrived, and he covered both of them even though he wasn’t sure the Witcher would be happy about it. But Geralt only showed his teeth in a cheeky smile, looking so content and at ease as Roche had never seen him.

“You’re so happy, just because you’ve fucked a guy, or because that guy was the commander of Blue Stripes?” asked him Roche who would love to go to sleep immediately, but he was honestly curious about that grin on Geralt’s face, and in the thing whether Geralt was so cheerful after a sex with women he was interested as well, however, he kept this question rather to himself.

“I enjoy sex,” Geralt shrugged, lips constantly curved into a smile. “Do you want to cuddle?” he added and raised his arm as an invitation.

“Go to hell,” Roche retorted.

“Do you snore?”

Roche produced a frustrated sound, he just wanted to sleep, but he wasn’t able to as Geralt kept chuckling and asking stupid questions.

“Just for your information, I don’t mind snoring,” the Witcher admitted completely seriously. “I got used to it, because Triss snores as well…"

 

 


End file.
